


gone, i'm gone

by orphan_account



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Hadestown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21511822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: summary: sometimes, you must just let hungry girls go. veth is one of them. bren is not willing. / hadestown au
Relationships: Caleb Widogast & Jester Lavorre, Nott/Caleb Widogast, The Wildmother/The Lawbearer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	gone, i'm gone

**Author's Note:**

> this was a 3am fucking stupor but i really like them :(

i.

Veth has always been hungry. 

Onward from spring, she’s known nothing but fleeting footfalls on cobblestone roads, darting in and out of cities and small, rural towns. Every day the weight she carries grows heavier with the accumulating bags of gold, settled comfortably within her pockets. It had been days since she had something nice to eat, or something to drink - the warm sensation of whiskey long since dulled from the last time she drank.

It is merely chance when she pushes her way through a tavern, head tucked under a hood, elbows raised for protection - when a young, dashing man sits up a little straighter when she barrels towards the bar, sliding a gold coin over the counter for a drink. Their eyes meet - once, twice - and multiple times, after that. Veth pulls the hood closer. The man stands up and slides into the seat across from her.

“Come home with me,” he says, and Veth’s hood nearly falls off her head as it is raised, and she quirks a brow. 

“I don’t know -” Why he would do this, say these sort of things - bringing a jaded woman’s hopes up. Why he would walk up to her, eyes shining, expression fond, looking at her like she is his world - because she is not anything, really - and you know you are not anything when you are out and about on the streets, doing whatever you need to survive.

“- who you are,” she decides on saying, and she folds her hands over the table, coolly. The man smiles.

“The man who’s going to marry you,” he says - shrugging. “My name - is Bren. Aldric Ermendrud.”

She can not help but laugh at that. How could she not? Someone so  _ earnest  _ and honest, someone who could say these sort of things - and she puts a hand to her mouth, and laughs.

“Are you always like this?” She asks. His eyes crinkle in a smile - and the warm, amber light of the tavern illuminates his jawline - curls of red-hot fire on his scalp, and sparkling, blue eyes. 

“Maybe I am,” he croons, and he leans forward - and Veth, already amused, puts her hand out for a shake. He holds it, instead - rubs his thumb over the web between her thumb and forefinger in circular motions. One round, two rounds...

“My name is -” Veth almost rolls off her tongue. “...Nott,” she lies, and she runs her tongue over her teeth. “because I’m - not much of anything, really.”

“You are everything,” Bren replies, again - and she is surprised by how easily she laughs when she is with him.

She tells him her real name much, much later - after drinks, and laughter, and earnest heart-to-hearts. Of Bren, bright-eyed and optimistic and powerful, of dreams to make the world a better place, of a song that will save the world - and all she can hear is that he can save  _ her. _

“When you become my wife,” he says. He is  _ crazy _ , she thinks - because there is obviously  _ no  _ way this has worked on anyone else - because a song can not simply save the world; the world is much more complicated than that, so much more than a silly song and dance.

But she is taken, she admits - and it is not a moment later ( and a few shots of whiskey ) that her gaze lingers on his scruffy beard, his cute nose, and the curve of his lips.

He is crazy, she tells herself as she pulls her hands away - but all she is afraid of is of living; especially when she has been merely surviving for most of her life - when she has been made to feel like she deserves nothing more.

But alive is worth a lot - and Veth, if anything, likes to take her chances.

“Well,” she licks her lips, and gazes at him, slyly - and if she knew how Bren’s gaze, too, falls from the roundness of her forehead, to her soft and umber eyes, to her button nose, she would believe that he is as taken with her as she is him. “So, tell me about your song, Bren.”

It is not a moment later when he starts to sing, fingers plucking his lyre - and for a moment, her heart stops in her throat, and the tavern falls silent with his song.

_ Oh _ , she thinks.  _ Oh _ , he is special.

“You are - smart,” she begins, slowly, “and talented - and amazing.” Bren smiles. Veth clasps his hands in her small, stubby ones. “You  _ must  _ finish it.”

“I will go where you go,” he replies - and he leans in for a kiss.

She kisses back.

It takes a while, but Veth and Bren begin singing a tune.

ii.

The train comes to Wildemount every time the leaves on trees turn warm - brown, red, orange - never green, much unlike sweet Wildmother, Melora, who comes in when spring comes, with a picnic basket full of drink and prosperity, of blossoming flowers and twined vines ( and Bren picks a cluster up and tucks it behind Veth’s ear, and she can not help but laugh at the silliness that stirs in her gut ). 

Melora does not seem too  _ happy  _ about it, either - the smoke billows from the chimney of the sleek, black, industrial train - far away from them, but still too close for comfort. Melora clutches the picnic basket to her chest.

“Someone, tell me I’m dreaming. It hasn’t been  _ six  _ months, right?” she asks - but Veth does not know if her question is rhetorical or genuine. Bren wraps an arm around her and squeezes - he is here, he is with her, his touch reminds her. She leans into his touch - but he senses the mood, sombre, tense,  _ afraid _ \- and he slowly and reluctantly unwraps his arm around Veth- pulls out his lyre and plucks away a jaunty tune.

The Messenger, Jester, she calls herself - the one who convinces her to let poor boy Bren into her heart, the one who, she eventually learns, has stuck with Bren for quite a ways, sings a tune about the citadel of the Underworld - of the boss of it all. Erathis, the name is on her tongue. Veth feels warm light in her stomach, her hunger seceding as they sing of leaving, of work in the Underworld, of how it is like to be in Hadestown. The people join in. 

Follow the dollar, Jester sings - and maybe, she, too, is singing to her. The underworld is no longer ruled by the god of Death, and instead of death, there is life. There is civilization. 

There is work.

There is no need to feel hungry, in Hadestown.

The train pulls up at the warm and inviting station. The gust of wind is cold, cold, cold - ice on her skin. Veth feels frostbitten, but a rush of warmth soon greets her - and them - as the train door opens slow with a mechanical hiss.

The Lawbearer steps out from her train, regal and imposing - a dark hood draping over her face like a mourning veil - mourn for springtime, mourn for love - and Melora rolls her eyes and juts her hip out to the side. 

“You’re early.” Melora hisses. Erathis merely smiles. 

“I missed you,” she replies.

Veth’s breath is shakily drawn out, chills running down her spine. Survival instincts scream at her, begging her to run, to get out, to leave this place and to let the lovers talk - but she is enamored, per se - by the promise of wealth and security and a consistent place to stay.

She looks at Melora, her lips pulled into a scowl - and Erathis links her arms with hers and escorts her into the train. She looks at Bren, who's playing has long since stopped, eyebrows furrowed at their exit - and he looks at her.

He smiles.

She wonders how it feels to not be hungry, anymore.

iii.

Erathis approaches her in the usual tavern - and Veth is leaning on the bar, idly swirling her glass of whiskey. Bren is staying up late, reading, composing, writing - and Veth is left alone to fend for them. They have a house now - but it is cold and drafty ( though Bren always makes her feel warm, anyway ) - and though she loves him, loves the flame he lit with his ardor, she does not believe in a world that can turn with mere song.

She searches for firewood - hunts for food - all the while Bren is singing. She busies herself with the menial labor - swats rats and bugs that crawl into their abode, and she listens to the promises sung to her - that he can save her, that he can help her.

But weeks have passed, and there is no end to their plight. Not like  _ Bren  _ minds - but Veth certainly does - and she feels a twinge in her heart when she looks at Bren, one day.

_ Doubt _ .

She sucks in a breath - and that is how she meets Erathis, who coolly slides herself over to the stool beside her. She places her elbows on the counter, smiling at her. She has her fair share of problems, too - Veth remembers the silent lover’s quarrel on that day of her arrival - the cold smile she flashed to Melora - cold, but at the same time, so loving. However, Melora was sharp, prickling thorns that drew blood, like a stone that did not crack. 

But Erathis is thriving - and she has one thing going well for her if she is in love and in wealth. Veth thinks.

“How do you do it?” she asks her - and she folds her arms. “How did you - live?”

Erathis is silent. 

“You work,” she replies. “To be poor is to suffer - to work is to thrive. Only when you thrive, you can love.”

“That’s - true, yeah,” Veth murmurs, “but - where would I work?” 

She thinks to the towns that have sent searches out for her - of petty thief Nott, running around town, snagging purses and flasks and flashes of buttons. “I have nowhere.”

Her mind thinks back to Bren, for a moment - but all of that is forgotten when Erathis offers her a two-sided coin. A face, with ‘Hadestown’ etched in gold.

“Don’t let the vultures eat you,” Erathis says, “come to work. Then, you will have the means to love.”

Time stands still - the coin still offered to her with an outstretched hand. There is a voice in her head - asking her question after question. 

If love is to work - then Bren will know she loves him; and that is all she can ask for, in the end.

A curl of her lip. Veth responds with a smile of her own.

She pockets the coin.

“I will go where you go," she says - and all Erathis does is smile.

Veth is never seen again.

iv.

Bren often wakes up to Veth curled up to his chest - arms wrapped around his waist, head tucked into him, and Bren often takes a moment to listen to the soft breathing coming from Veth, feel the rise and fall of her chest.

Usually, he drifts off to sleep, too, just by looking at her. He gets to work earlier and earlier each day - drafting up lyrics, working on a tune - all for her, he says. If it is to save her smile; to save the world, he would do  _ anything _ .

But one day, Bren wakes up - and Veth is not there.

There is, however, a letter, neatly penned and folded on his bedside how- and Bren picks up the note.

‘ Flying to greener pastures, liebe. I’ll come back soon.   
Wait for me.

Love, Veth. ‘   
  


Shaky breath, shaky hands, clammy, cold, dead. Bren feels dread in his heart when he finds out Veth is gone - and he can not help but descend into a panic when he scans the note again - rereading it over and over again like a song that can be changed. It is so  _ unfortunately  _ real - Bren crushes the note in his hands.

He does not know what he plans on doing - but he is out of the house, a coat on his back, a scarf on his neck, and a lyre in his hand. Jester leans out from behind him - and Bren has long surpassed the stages of being scared of her tricks - but he is, this time.

“Did you see Veth?” she asks. Bren gives her the stink eye. “What? I’m just asking! You know, she was like, all scared and sad and stuff when she was at the station. And she called out for you, I don’t know if she was, like, sleep talking, though? Or maybe she was awake and she was regretting it - oh, do you think she got abducted -”

“Jester, I -” he pauses. He wrings his hands. “I… do not think that - she was… abducted. She is doing something very stupid. Something that she will regret.”

“And what are you going to do?” Jester asks - and as if on cue, he feels a coin in his pocket. It is round - and cool, like bronze. There are etchings on the surface - and he feels the words engraved under his skin.

They stop in front of the train station - and when his eyes follow the railroad track, he lands upon a tunnel - the road to Hadestown.

“I will go to her.”

His reply is simple. 

v.

“I needed to do this,” Veth tells herself. Days pass - weeks pass - months pass. Veth is not entirely sure what the time of day it is - and the sky keeps changing colors every time she opens her eyes; blue, navy, violet, pink, orange, white. She sucks in a deep breath, shifts in her padded seat of the luxurious train. “I had to - because I want to love.”

There is no reply but the monotonous chugging of the railroad train - nothing but a cool breeze that pries at her skin. She shivers - and she vaguely thinks about the truth of the matter.

Maybe she did not need to do this, she thinks - but she has to, she has to, she needs to. 

That was what the rest did, too.

The train pulls up in a darker, more dreary place - it is painted in cool greys and the darkest of blacks, as if all warmth on the surface had been sucked up, now leaving nothing but an empty shell of life. Veth feels a twist in her gut - the excitement, the dread, the guilt, the  _ fear _ .

She was never really  _ great  _ at dealing with change, after all. 

Her shoes clack against the pavement, the familiar sound of cobblestone on leather now a haunted echo. Instead of the crowd at home that was much more lively - much more  _ alive _ , in fact - now, there is only the sound of noise. Cold, industrial noise - the humming of electricity running through wires under the citadel, the wailing of a train’s whistle, the cacophonous footsteps of everyone living in Hadestown.

Veth breathes in and inhales rust and soot. She coughs.

She is home.

...But home does not remember her, it seems - and maybe it is not home, after all - because everyone is cold, and no one looks her in the eye. She is shoved into a line, tossed a pickaxe and a set of overalls, and is yelled at to change, and to work.

No, this is all wrong, Veth says. Home is - warmth. Home is - curled up on a man, red hair and blue eyes, with fingers carding through her knotted hair, eyes half-lidded, but holding all of the light in the world.

Home is - 

Home is -

She frantically looks at the people - dead, bereft of life. Empty, empty eyes - soulless, and dead, and empty, and dark.

“I need to go,” she mumbles. CLANG! The metal strikes against hardened dirt. “I need to go home.” CLANG! Metal strikes again. Dirt crumbles. Crackle, crackle. CLANG!

“I -”

She has already forgotten who she is. She has already forgotten the man who had looked upon her so kindly - forgotten the life she had in her hands - before she had given it all away.

Because to love is to work.

She breathes in rust and copper and diamond dust. Her hands are already calloused - and it reminds her of… something. Something she does not know anymore. But something, for sure.

CLANG!

She works, regardless. 

There is melancholy in her heart.

vi.

The underground is cold and dark - that is what the girl takes away from her months, toiling under Erathis’ hand. It is cold, and dark - though she has a bed to sleep in, and food to eat - it does not feel… good. Does not feel  _ right _ \- does not feel like she belongs, really. She works, regardless - she punches in and punches out, lives within a rigid schedule - and everyday she sees new faces, but they all seem to blend in, in the end.

There is one man who does not blend in. Caleb Widogast. He tries - dirt smeared on face, hair mussed, coat thoroughly draped in dirt - but his hair is too bright, and his eyes are too sparkling - much too shiny for a worker of the Underworld.

She ignores him - despite the words he tries to say to her when their paths cross. He is familiar - but she does not know why at all.

When Melora comes back home - she does not speak to Erathis at all. She lives in her underground bar - and when she is pushed in, on accident - she feels life, blossoming. Melora looks at her, and for a second, there is recognition. It gives way to pity.

She offers her a drink, and Veth drinks, steadily. Then she drinks quickly. And then she drinks. She drinks for a while, whiskey after whiskey after whiskey.

The underground is cold and dark - but then she sees red hair and blue eyes, from a distance a fire wells up in her heart, sends tingles through her spine and to her toes. Caleb Widogast - he is too familiar. She does not like the vulnerability she feels - does not like feeling exposed.

“Come home with me,” he says - and Veth feels… something. Remembrance. She has seen him in dreams - not really dreams, for she tosses and turns, now - but she has seen him.

The love of her life - and that feels right, on her tongue. It settles on her tongue like a nice, warm bottle of sherry wine.

“Bren," she breathes - the name gone from the tip of her tongue. His eyes light up.

“Veth -”

“- It’s - I’m Nott - much of, Veth, anymore,” she stumbles. “I am not much of… anything.”

“You are everything,” he replies, firmly - and it feels familiar. Too familiar. She smiles. “That is why I - want you to come home - I… I’m - I want to apologize. For not hearing you.”

“That’s okay. You came, didn’t you?” She frowns. “How - how did you get here?”

“I walked,” he says, matter-of-factly. Veth balks. “And sang,” he adds in, helpfully - not too helpfully. “I sang a song - and the stones wept, and they let me in.”

He holds her hand in his, and he smiles. “I could sing us home again.”

Veth wants to, desperately - she wants to hold onto Bren, tight - and she never wants to let him go. She wants - him. She has always wanted him - always wanted what is good for him - and that was why she went.

For him - because she loved him so much, she wanted to work for the sake of him.

But Erathis’ gaze drowns her.

“I - no, Cale - Bren, Caleb, Bren, no, I - I can’t,” she stutters. Bren squeezes her hands, gently. She shakes her head - tears her hands away from him. “You can’t.”

“I can -”

“It’s her - it’s Erathis - you wouldn’t understand -”

And Erathis, as if on cue, steps in front of Veth, and smiles a cold, cold smile.

vii.

“I am bringing her home,” Bren hisses. Melora steps into the fray, soon after Erathis comes in.

“I know this boy, Erathis,” the Wildmother scorns her wife, “leave him alone - leave  _ them  _ alone.”

“I cannot, my dear,” she replies, snappily. “He is a foolish man - does not know she belongs to  _ me _ , now - that -”

“No -”

“That she  _ signed  _ the deal, all on her own - that she willingly came here, all on her lonesome.”

“Veth -” Bren turns to her. Veth freezes. “- that’s not true, is it?”

Veth feels the knife twist in her gut. She casts her gaze away.

“I did.” she says. “I do.”

And Erathis, satisfied - picks Caleb up by the scruff and tosses him out of Hadestown.

There is nothing, but the hum of machinery. Veth does not cry - but she does not work, either.

She merely stands.

Erathis brushes her aside. The world is nothing but silent now - the wails of the cold wind, the lament of fate.

Soon enough, a song plays, soon, out of Hadestown - and there is a faint thrum of hope in her chest - the catalyst for change, deep down Underground.

“Maybe we should let them try,” Melora says, arms crossed, leaning on the other side of the wall. The hooded figure stands, silently. Erathis, glancing at lover, glancing at wife.

Silence.

“He will have to convince me,” she replies. She can not say no to her, after all.

viii.

“Sing a song for me,” Erathis lifts a hand at Caleb, hood shifting, head tilted. “Make me feel young again.” The Lawbearer’s demand - a woman, ambitious in her right, searching for success, searching to be loved, and to love.

Bren is hesitant when he is tossed his lyre - confiscated, when he was caught once - there is still dirt smudged on his face. Veth pulls him down, and wipes the dirt on his nose away.

Bren smiles.

And when he sings, there is light in her chest again - the strum of a lyre, his voice ringing true. The song is slow - and Bren’s voice shakes, just momentarily.

But he sings of a story of love - and Veth remembers bits and pieces of the songs, the song he had been creating, when she was still there. It paints vivid, beautiful pictures in her mind - of overgrown gardens, of prismatic flowers, and of vines, and fruit, and  _ joy. _

Erathis is frozen when he hums.

“That melody,” she breathes - and she, for a moment, feels alive, though Bren continues singing, conviction solidifying with every note. “Where did he find it - my love -”

Melora smiles - and the court sings: la, la la la, la la la.

La, la la la, la la la.

Erathis slowly gets up. She turns to Melora.

She offers a hand.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Melora takes it, and smiles - and they dance, like they have never danced before.

Veth has hope; has captured it in her hands and held it tight- because maybe, just maybe - no one has to work to love.

“Come home with me,” Veth says. Bren looks at her, surprised.

“Are you - are you sure?”

Veth nods - and this time, she takes his hands in hers. “Take me home,” she says, softly - and it is genuine, and real. “Take me home, Bren.”

ix.

They have not won. Not yet - because although Erathis is smiling, her eyes finally crinkling with a genuine, true smile - it does not take long for her to turn back, burning cold, as she whispers words into Jester’s ear.

“You can go home! Isn’t that really cool?” Jester sings, and she picks up Veth’s hands, smiling. She pauses. “Oh, but - well, you can’t go home, not like how you want to. Because, well, Erathis wants you to like, walk single file.”

“Oh.” Bren speaks, first. Veth merely holds his hand tighter. “That is all?”

“Oh, and you can’t look at each other!” She wags a finger at him - and she frowns, finger dropping. “It’s not fair. You two deserve your happy ending. You guys are pretty romantic.”

“We can do this,” Veth says. “I think - I think - we’ll... be okay.”

Jester smiles.

“I hope so, too. So,  _ Caleb _ ,” she mispronounces his alias, toothy grin on her face. “don’t turn and look at your pretty wife’s face, okay?” Bren’s face turns a brilliant red. “- because if you do, she’s gonna go poof!”

“Ja, ja,” Bren hunches over - and he turns to look at Veth. 

He leans in to kiss her. Veth smiles - and kisses back.

For a moment, he thinks - they can do this.

For eternity, she believes they can make it.

x.

The clamor of the underworld soon fades - as they walk through a tunnel, torchlight flickering bright gold and red. Bren keeps his eyes trained on the floor, counting each step that he takes, one foot in front of the other. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. 

He tries to pull his mind away from turning around, from looking at Veth - because he can’t look at her - not now. She needs to be home, needs to be free from eternal turmoil - from eternal unrest. Bren counts even more steps. Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three.

The temperature starts to drop as they continue walking - it feels like a vast expanse of  _ empty _ darkness - and Bren is not very sure where they are, nor how far they are to the end. 

He sings. La, la la la, la la la.

La, la la la, la la…

La, la la…. la la, la….

La….

La…..

The tune of love dies in his throat. Sweat beads down his temple - and his gaze loses focus - hands beginning to tremble. What is going on, what is going on - who is he, what is he doing - this is stupid, this is stupid. Bren prides himself on his memory - on his photographic memory, of being able to remember - but yet he can not remember this song, this  _ simple  _ song that he had sung moments before. He feels the thumping of his heart swallow him whole, reverberating through his skull, shaking his hollow, hollow body.

He needs Veth - his mind cries out. Veth, Veth, where is she, where is she, where is she….

Fourteen hundred. Fourteen hundred and one. Fourteen hundred and two. Fourtee -

Bren turns around.

The trembling subsides. Veth stops in her tracks.

The light illuminates him from behind, like a halo - it illuminates his jawline, his copper-colored hair, and his shining, blue eyes…

“...Bren…”

He smiles.

“Veth.”

For a split second - he sees green, and sharp teeth, and yellow, haunted eyes.

And then she’s gone.

There is nothing else left.


End file.
